


Windswept Plains

by Burning_Nightingale



Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: F/M, Loss, Separations
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-05
Updated: 2014-01-05
Packaged: 2018-01-07 05:30:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 641
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1116080
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Burning_Nightingale/pseuds/Burning_Nightingale
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Haleth leaves Caranthir.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Windswept Plains

**Author's Note:**

> Aaah, another tragic OTP. I'm planning a Haleth life story fic, but since it's still in the works, have some of this instead. Maybe one day I'll write a canon-divergence AU where Haleth accepts Caranthir's offer...But anyway.

The wide plains rippled like an ocean in the gusting wind that picked at their clothes and swirled their long hair about their faces as they watched the small procession of Men wind away into the distance. Their leader looked as ladylike as she ever did, clad in rough hunting clothes with her hair knotted back, and yet still she retained her nobility as she turned a final time and raised one slender arm in farewell.

Carnistir sighed quietly to himself as he raised his own right arm. Soon Haleth and her people would be far away, gone long beyond recall and far beyond his reach. How he wished things had gone differently between them; that she might have stayed safe, protected, allied, united…and with him.

“It’s better that she’s gone, brother.”

He turned sharply to look at Tyelcormo, who was watching him and not the retreating line of figures on the horizon. “Better that she’s gone beyond my help, possibly into danger?” he snapped.

“You know what I mean.” Turko’s look was hard. “We all know how you felt about her. It’s better she’s gone. You can move on now. Forget her.”

Carnistir’s mouth pressed into a thin line. Without saying a word, he took one last look at the figure retreating on the horizon and then turned his horse away, kicking it into a trot as he started back down the hill.

Tyelcormo scowled. “What did I say?” he inquired of the only other of his brothers who was with them.

“It’s hard to forget love, Turko,” Pityafinwë said, his voice quietly chastising. He gave his reins a gentle tug and started his horse walking back down the hill after Carnistir, with Tyelcormo falling in beside him. “I have never forgotten Melyávë, even though it has been, what, two hundred years since she died? More?”

Tyelcormo shook his head. “The two situations are nothing alike. She was your wife, Pityo. You had a _son_. It’s not the same as Moryo’s fancying some lowly second born wench who doesn’t even have any respect for him. What fool would refuse the help of the Eldar? She wasn’t good for him.”

Pityafinwë sighed and shook his head. “Don’t you remember how you felt about Irissë?”

Tyelcormo’s face hardened, and his mouth tightened into a thin line. “I don’t know what you mean,” he snapped stubbornly.

Pityafinwë shook his head. “No, Turko, I suppose you don’t. But just think about it, yes? Be more considerate.”

Tyelcormo snorted derisively and kicked his horse into a trot, whistling for Huan as he disappeared off down the hill.

Pityafinwë turned and caught a last glimpse of the stragglers of the group of men being shepherded along by the rearguard. _Perhaps Turko is right,_ he thought to himself, _it could never have lasted. What relationship between Firstborn and Secondborn could? Look at what happened to Aegnor and his mortal woman._ He sighed heavily to himself, then shivered as the wind hissed and swirled around him, colder now than before. Bidding the men a silent farewell and safe journey, he urged his horse into a slow canter to speed him back to the warmth of Carnistir’s hall. _Tonight we shall eat well, drink and be merry, sing and laugh. Tonight we shall distract him, make him forget his sorrow. And on the morn, we shall talk. About this…and other things._

The wind gusted over the plains, sending ripples in waves over its vast ocean, and at the head of her column Haleth pulled her cloak closer for warmth, and rested one hand on the tiny carving hanging from a leather thong about her neck. His hands had crafted it for her, before they had parted; and now she would keep it close to her heart, she determined, as he would ever be close to her thoughts.

 


End file.
